Misconceptions
by fandom-obsessor-xo
Summary: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were not the only star crossed lovers participating in the 74th Hunger Games... After a plan set in order to protect Cato's girlfriend goes wrong, Clove and Cato find themselves competing alongside each other in the annual Hunger Games, and though they try to deny it, they cannot shake the dread of loosing each other... Clato piece:)
1. Chapter 1-Clove

The day of my grandmother's funeral was when I first saw her. Hair as fair as sunlight in comparison to our districts typical shadowy complexion, though in reality her mane shone a bold bronze colour. Her eyes were just as bright, a combination of both blue and grey, a blend I can only compare to the glacier blue waters of district four veiled by the curtain of faint fog that often blankets two. In fact, the only thing particularly ordinary about Helga Crete was the tone of her skin, as vanilla white as the rest of us, and perhaps drab, sensible choice of clothing. However, despite her averting dress sense and plain flesh, Helga was the sort of girl you couldn't help yourself from noticing, even when she is just one of hundreds of sombre faces, all bound together by 'grief'.

Of course, hardly of those who attended her memorial really would miss my grandmother. There were plenty more victors in the district to lavish with their attention and admiration. Barley any of those saddened faces really knew her either. She was one of those peculiar victors, who were not at all bothered by the fame or riches their victory presented to them, although I knew for a fact that she had volunteered. She had once told me it was to solve the financial problems for her family, who originated from one of the quaintest and poorest outer valleys. My grandfather had also grown up here, and everybody in the district knew that they had been sweethearts from a young age. When my grandmother sacrificed herself, my grandfather almost proceeded to forget all about her and join the peacekeeper force like his parents had always dreamed for him, but in the end his faith on her became restored and when my grandmother returned to the district after being crowned victor of the 13th Hunger Games, they married almost straight away. It had always been one of Panem's most darling love stories, and in my grandparents younger years I was told plenty of Capitol reporters would be present to film and interview them on anniversaries, holiday celebrations, and even the birth of my father. The fuss died down eventually, but the Landles remained a household name across the nation up until the day Edith Landle passed from an incurable disease that lay in her lungs, most likely to be caused from the decades she would smoke tobacco from a Capitol made pipe.

That day was the first time my grandparents had ever allowed me to be put in the public eye. Apparently, only dedicated fans of the Landles that lived outside the gates of our district knew of my existence, and even those who did were under the presumption I was in fact their second child. My mother was a disgrace, a loon and a whore, according to my grandfather, anyway. She enchanted my father with her erotic ways, and soon enough she became impregnated with me. My father denied fathering me at first, determined to pursue his own father's past dream to become a significant member of the peace keeper force, but when I was born there was no denying our relation. Skin as colourless as milk, hair and eyes dark like the feathers of a raven, I am told to this day the infant version of myself was the spit of my father when he was a babe. Not that is at all a compliment to me, as his parents and he simply fobbed my mother off with a two bedroomed shack that stood miles from the victor's village, a sack full of money and the instruction never to come in to contact with the Landles ever again. She kept her word. Three days later, her body was found in the shack, limp and lifeless, two angry red scars painted across her wrists. I had been a Landle ever since.

My father still joined the force. He occasionally sent letters and photographs to my grandparents and me, for we were in no need of money, but not once did he address me as anything other than my first name. To him, I truly was a foolish younger sibling, nothing more, nothing less. I'd always called him by his first name, Cliven, or Clive for short. Not even my grandmother, who I adored and admired so dearly, would mention the existence of my real mother, or even breathe her name, for that matter. I was always a Landle, and therefore, when the Landle's ship had finally sunk, I went down with it.

Helga Crete was standing tall among a crowd of other angel haired citizens. If your locks are fair in district two, you are almost always assumed to have a close relation to a merchant, as no mine bred citizen can afford to have hair so spotless. As she grabs my attention, I am also awoken to the even blonder child that stands a few feet away to Helga, his piercing eyes, and dull grey and as sharp as a sword, trained on her. Cato Kingsley. I knew of him. His father was a successful blacksmith, his sister a peacekeeper in an outer district and he, a treasured member of two's training school, at just nine years old. The Kingsley's lived on top of his father's spacious workshop in the centre of town, and were all perceived as reserved, friendly, selfless folk, who always played by the rules. All of them bar their eldest son, that is. One couldn't help but have a fascination with his ruthlessness, his sense of fierce sense of self assurance and his impulsive attitude towards life. Back then, I could only describe him as unpredictable and bold as a mighty wind. That is before I really knew him though.

* * *

The second time I saw Helga Crete, Cato Kingsley was with her once more. This time the pair stood side by side on a stretch of spacious greenery that bordered the inner valley my grandfather and I had just moved to. When a victor dies, by law their family must evacuate from the victors village and seek shelter elsewhere, and not long after the service, that is exactly what we did. The field lie beside the wide mine that sections of the valley, and seems to stretch for miles. There was never a piece of land so sensational back in the victor's village, just a perfectly trimmed strip of green, punctuated by a grand fountain. The thought of so many possibilities, so much unlimited freedom, sent a spark of exhilaration up my spine.

Cato seemed suspicious, to say the least. Once again, his poisonous eyes were at work, evaluating every inch of me with great caution. However, Helga seemed relaxed and amused by my arrival, a wide grin dominating her face. A couple of seconds after hitting me with her magnificent beam, she came bounding over to my grandfather and I, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Hello, I'm Helga!" She began, her voice light and frothy. "I should really know your name, but I'm afraid I can't remember it…" Helga paused, acknowledging my reluctance to converse. "Mind telling me it…" She prompts. I shrug, silently weighing up my options. I'd never been very good at friends, or people in general for that matter. But Helga did really seem very nice, and I was dying to learn more about her apparent friend…

"It's Clove." I mutter, to ashamed to meet the girl's eyes. I had given in to the temptation of human interaction, I had been weak. Helga's grin returns, as if mocking me. "Nice to meet you Clove, I'm sorry about your mother." I shrug again, embarrassed not to mention infuriated by her pity but also too polite to shoot her down. "That's Cato."

Helga jumps in, interrupting the awkwardness and pointing at her companion. "He's going to show me how to throw around some knives, because I'm absolutely useless at it, and I've _another_ audition for the training school next week."

I nod in response. I had already been enrolled in the training school for over a year, I had passed on my first audition when I was seven years old, the opening age for recruitment. Knife throwing had been my speciality from the age of four. "You're in the training school, right? Cato said he's seen you around, says your good with a knife." She proceeds. I nod again, ever incapable in social confrontations.

"You don't say much, do you, Clove?" Helga tilts her head absently mindedley to one side and stares at me with fierce concentration. The sound of my voice startles her.

"No, I don't." I reply in a monotone. I notice Helga's eyebrows arch in to a slight frown and see her press her lips together in frustration, before returning to her sunny, unfazed persona.

"Come, if you like." She says, intertwining her gaze with mine. "I can use as much help as I can get!" She adds, throwing me a mischievous wink before running back to Cato, who is still hovering around the opening of the field. I run after her.

* * *

Since that day, I saw Helga and Cato's face almost every day. I soon learnt that Helga lives in the same valley as I had transferred to, in fact, her shack is only a couple of doors down from ours. Her household consists of her elder brother and drunken father. Her mother had somehow escaped from the district when she was a new-born with a lover. Helga is not keen to discuss her mother's departure, but is more than eager to converse about anything else, her favourite topic being the Capitol. "One day, you mark my words, I'll escape from this sordid place like my mother and live a life of luxury, and you wait and see, Clove!" She announced to me once, whilst we were grazing lazily on the field on the afternoon of the annual reaping we were both still too young to participate in. Seeing my sour expression, she quickly proceeds to add "And of course you can come visit, whenever you like!" I force a smile. As if I'd ever want to live_ there_.

Cato is lot less talkative than Helga but just as charming. Although he certainly has a menacing way about his nature, whenever he is addressing someone he respects and admires, he is the most charismatic soul one had ever come across. Unfortunately, at the beginning, I did not fall in to that category. It took months to earn Cato's respect, but something inside of me was yearning for it, and I am not the type to give in when things turn difficult and tiresome, not if I want that thing enough. And I certainly wanted Cato's approvment. Helga is nice enough, but nothing was at all, and still isn't, challenging about her, nothing at all thrilling or bewildering, whereas Cato has always been full of the latter. I will always remember the day I received his acceptance. His respect. It is probably the fondest memory from my childhood, despite the fact it did not have much competition.

Helga and I were ten years old and after what seemed to be her hundredth try, she had finally passed her entrance exam and had been enrolled in the training school alongside Cato and me. He was eleven at this point, and training harder than ever as he was well aware this time next year he could qualify as a tribute. "The instructors at the school say you're an idiot if you volunteer before the age of at least fifteen, but there's always the chance of being reaped, and I would rather be slaughtered than have any do gooder volunteer in my place." He grows as we made our way to the field. "One day, I'll go into that arena and emerge victorious, you wait and see, but I'd rather build my strength up first, y'know?" Helga nods fiercely, bouncing on her toes to catch up with him. "And when I win, I'm going to claim the biggest house in the victor's village as my own and then…"

"All the houses are the same size." I interrupt from behind them. Helga shoots me a warning look, and Cato's face begins to redden with rage, but I continue. "I should know, I'm the only one out of the three of us who has actually lived there."

"But I doubt you were ever observant enough to notice" Cato replies "That the second from last on the far left corner is at least a good few meters more land than its neighbours." I begin to protest but he interrupts. "And that the fourth house in is several centimetres more wide than the others." I shake my head in bewilderment.

"How do you _know _that?" I awe.

"I am very perceptive. It's a gift." Cato explains. I scoff and I notice Helga, who almost always took Cato very seriously back then, supressing a laugh. "_What?_"

"The way you said that, it was funny." I pipe up.

"How?"

"It just was." I shrug. "Another gift of yours, I presume." This time Helga fails to contain herself, and bursts in to a whirlwind of brilliant laughter. Even Cato cannot help but smile.

"Okay, whatever you say, Clove."

He had never addressed me by name before this point. He'd spoken at me on many occasions, but never properly to me, and that was the indication that our acquaintanceship was beginning to sail in to the waters of friendship. Just a simple tactic change was all that did it. No longer did I decide to be afraid of his reaction to my participation in discussions, I finally broke the vow to say as little as possible when in his presence, waiting like a foolish child for him to come to me. He would have never came _to_ me. He was too good for me. Everyone was back then, and still is to this day. He is Cato Kingsley, for heaven's sake.

The inevitable happened two years later. On Helga's twelfth birthday, Cato took her to the broken tree that is located at the back of the field, and pressed a kiss upon her lips. I was at home, because it was raining something terrible, and I had never been a fan of bitter weather. A few hours later, after the kiss that is, just as I was beginning to wash up the plates from me and my grandfather's evening meal, I heard an eager rappa-tap-tapping echo in the direction from the front door. And of course, there she was, my ecstatic best friend who had just been kissed for the first time. I knew straight away what had happened, and I still to this day don't know how. I would like to state that I was happy for my friends, my only friends, and that I embraced their romance with open arms. But if I stated that I would be lying, because deep inside I could feel a harsh ache and a wave of sadness soaking my face. Of course, I knew I'd never be adequate enough for Cato Kingsley, but it hurt that Helga Crete, of all people, was.


	2. Chapter 2-Cato

"What I've brought you here to tell you is that…" Helga inhales nervously, catching her breath "Is that…is that I have decided to volunteer."

I stare at my girlfriend, perplexed. Not two years ago her brother, Meeti, had been brutally killed in the games, taking a dagger in his spine in order to protect the piles of supplies the career pack had gathered. How the hell could the same thing happening to her bring anything but disgust and repulsion? Had she gone completely crazy? Because there was no way she'd make it out alive, she's nowhere near suspicious enough, nor physically able in combat or weaponry, did how on earth the idea of could even crossed her…

"Cato, Clove? Say something…" She pauses, then chokes. "Please…" I remember then than I am not alone is carrying the weight of this confession. I allow my eyes to wander from her to Clove, who sits with her back fitted in to a crook carved in to the broken tree, seemingly unfazed.

"Why?" I demand, more viciously than I intend to. Helga jumps at my tone, almost tripping over her own feet and tumbling headfirst in to the plush grass, and would have if my able arms hadn't been on hand to rescue her. When she is steadied again, she meets my eyes for what seemed like the first time in months. They are duller than they used to be, sadder. They seem to have been drained of all the sparkle and beauty that made them once so magnificent. Nobody could not help but notice Helga this time two years ago, with her permanent smile and mane of gold, but now she simply seemed to blend into the background. She sighs sombrely, and takes my hands in her own. I want to pull away, not just because they are as icy cold as her eyes have come to be, but because I feel as though she is pitying me, and being pitied is something I resent more than anything. But I stay put, because I need an answer.

"It's hard to explain, but I want to him proud. And my father. He didn't manage to make it home, but maybe, with the right training, I can. I can finish what he couldn't and return to two victorious, break pa from his sadness and make everything right and…"

"Are you crazy?" I yell. "You're always stuck in a god damn fairy world, I swear to God you are Helga! Look at you, you can't even throw a knife more than a couple of meters, your aim is atrocious and you're far too naïve to survive one night in that arena…"

"You shut up!" She screams right back at me. "I'm in the training school, just like you, I've been preparing for years, just like you! You're no better than me, what makes you think you're so much better than me, Cato?" She's right up in my face now, molecules of spit fly from her rosebud mouth and on to my neckline. I had always been significantly taller than her.

"I never _said _I was better than you." I sigh, already growing tiresome of the drama.

"That doesn't mean you don't think it, and you obviously always have." She protests. "You think you're better than anyone else and so did Meeti and look where his arrogance got _him_." In the corner of my vision, I see Clove roll her eyes.

"What do_ you_ think about all this?" I ask Clove, who has become so bored with the scene that she has begun to start sharpening her wide array of knifes.

"I think she's being stupid, and I don't think she'll go through with it." Clove begins, not once diverting her vision from her knives. "But if she does, then that's her decision, and it's neither of our places to stop her." I turn to Helga, her expression is just a bewildered as mine. After seven years of friendship, is that all she can say? Helga has practically just announced that she has decided to get herself killed, and Clove is behaving as though she is simply contemplating whether or not to skip school tomorrow.

"See, Clove understands." Helga says, failing to hide her uncertainty. "I have to do this, Cato. You've seen how low I've been these past months since…well, you know." Her face falls, her features crumpling in an effort to keep in the tears. "This is the only way I can make things right." She straightens herself out and looks right at me, her unfamiliar glare sending chills through my spine. "If you really loved me, you'd accept that." After delivering that last sentence, she turns to walk away, behaviour so extraordinary for the ever confrontational Helga that I begin to question if this strange new being was ever once the beautiful, sunny girl that I had been so in love with for as long as I could remember.

Clove stares up at me, her chin propped just above the blades of the handful of knives she is still clutching. "What?" I grumble, frustrated at her for not backing me up.

"She's right, you know." She mumbles, returning to her knives.

"About what? That _killing_ herself is the only way to make things right?" I let out a sarcastic laugh. "Somehow I think not…"

"Not about that, for god's sake, Cato. You never were any good at reading between the lines, were you?" She is proceeding to lunge the knives towards a neighbouring tree by this point, still snuggled in to the crook of the broken tree, her dark eyes focused, deadly.

"What do you…" I begin.

"There's nothing you can do to stop her. Nothing. If she wants to do it, she will. You should be grateful she had the decency to let you know beforehand." Not half an ounce of sympathy of compassion oozes from her tone. That is what has always appealed to me about her, her ability to push aside emotion and her sense of brutal honesty. I find it refreshing to have someone so frank, so straight forward, in one's life. It isn't half aggravating at times such as this though.

"I can't believe how calm you are about all this, it's as if you already knew…"

"Trust me, I was taken just as off guard as you, but as I have just said, there's no point speculating about it. With things like this, there is no in-between. You're either going to go do it, or you're not." Clove explains.

"And you think she's not?" I ask.

"I have no idea."

"And you don't care?" I enquire, anger brewing in the pit of my stomach. Clove shrugs.

"I guess, but I'm equipped to cope with my emotions, unlike some people." She mocks, managing to pierce the neighbouring tree so deep that one of its branches begins to falter and swing in the wind.

I lose it then. I didn't know how she could be so relaxed, so unconcerned by the fact her best, and let's face it, _only _friend had just given herself a death sentence. It enraged me, and although I am enraged on a regular basis, I don't often feel as blinded by anger as I do in this particular moment. No, rage like this is saved for special occasions. Within seconds, I have swiped a knife from Clove's grasp and I am holding her against the trunk of the broken tree with it, its gleaming blade skimming the top of her collarbone. I have never been so close to her before.

"Get the fuck _off_ me, Cato!" She does not yell, but this is no indication that she is frightened, or even a little intimidated. She keeps her glare trained on me, her glance not faltering for a second.

"Start taking this fucking _seriously _then, for god's sake." I lower the knife from her neck, causing her to uncharatiscally loose her balance and trip over the crook of the broken and tree and face first on to the ground. Her hands break her fall, but this does not erase the same projected from her face, as she brushes off her grass stained hands on her pants. I cannot help but smirk.

"_Bastard_." She hisses as she recomposes herself.

"So, are you going to help me talk her out of it or not?" I ask. Clove gives a casual shrug, propping herself back up against the broken tree.

"Maybe, but I mean, as I've already said about thousand times already, there's not much either of us can really do…"

Suddenly, an idea hits me like a wave that had been oncoming since this conversation had started. Clove_ could_ do something. She could volunteer before Helga did. Despite being small, she is by far one of the most skilled in her year at the training school, and is a genius with any sort of blade. Her aim is outstanding, and her nature fierce and callous, exactly the traits that make up a successful tribute, and possibly a victor. I would be upset to loose Clove, she has been a loyal friend for many years, after all, but her chances of returning victorious were significantly higher than sweet Helga's, and she had often mentioned that one day she would be keen to sacrifice herself…

"Volunteer before she does." I blurt out. For the first time ever I think I see a look of bewilderment take her face.

"What…you can't be serious…" Clove begins.

"I am." I sigh. "You've always said you'd be up for volunteering at some point and you've got the…"

"I meant when I was seventeen or eighteen for goodness sake! You're always the one who says people who volunteer before the age of sixteen are fools!" She growls, who tone growing more infuriated with each word. "I can't even believe you'd suggest this…"

"Well, I am suggesting this." I say frankly. "You have the skill, the brains, the tough skin _and_ the determination to win, everybody says so!"

"I don't care what everyone says!" Clove is yelling now, her face blotched with crimson and her eyes wild. "If I volunteer, I want to be _ready. _I'm not ready! I've only just turned fifteen for heaven's sake…I can't even…"

"I can help you train. We still have ten days before the reaping, if we meet up at least every other night think about how much I could teach you!" Clove scoffs at this.

"Thanks for offering me such a _privilege, _but I'll think I'll pass…"

"Stop being so god damn selfish, Clove!" I find myself shouting at her. "Think about how proud your grandfather would be, to see you following in his wife's footsteps! Think about how grateful Helga's pa would be, knowing that you prevented him from losing the only person he has left…" I usually hate using bribery as a tactic of persuasion, I find it tragic and pathetic, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"No! Give it up already!" Clove screams back at me. "I'm not doing it!"

She is still standing just a few centimetres away from me, her small frame fitted into the broken tree, wearing an expression full of fire and hate. I step towards her, my footsteps slow and menacing, so I my face is only inches from her own, so close that I can feel her steady breaths tickle my cheeks.

"Why not?" I hiss. "It's not like anybody would miss you. Your daddy left you, your mama and grandmother choked it and everybody knows the only reason your grandfather keeps you is because someday he wishes for you to bring him back to his house in the victors village…I mean, why else would he bother?" I see something strange in Clove's eyes then. Something I have only ever seen before in the eyes of the vulnerable, the needy and weak. Pain. A wicked hurt from within that not even the strongest of medicines could banish. I'd of never of thought such an ache could be reflected in the eyes of a being as strong as her, but there was no mistaking it.

Before I can utter another word, Clove has darted around me and is beginning to race away, back towards the opening of the field and into the valley.

"Clove, wait!" I yell, but she does not turn to me. "_Clove!" _

This time she stops, and slowly turns herself to look at me. Somehow, for the first time, I notice how complete she had become. Her once level chest has blossomed in to a shaping bosom, and her hips, previously so narrow her stomach barley managed to fit between them, have enlarged significantly. Even from afar, her skin seems softer, like delicate petals plucked from an ivory bud.

"I'll do it, okay?" She shouts over the fierce wind.

"Clove…I…"

"Meet me back here this time tomorrow" She instructs, before letting the wind sweep her up again, leaving me stood there, to watch her fade away.


	3. Chapter 3-Clove

I awaken the following morning with my hair astray and a staler more crumpled version of yesterdays clothes still upon my body. Clumps of sleep fill the corner of my eyes, and even before I have time to check a clock, I just know that I am significantly late. Not the greatest start to a day, especially seeing as being prompt is something I have always taken pride in. I have no idea why this is, just the same as I have no idea why I have never be quite satisfied with the company of the majority of other people, nor am I aware of the reasoning behind someone as petite as I being so skilled in combat, I mean, life holds a lot of mysteries.

As I enter the front room of my Grandfather and I's lodge, I notice that my grandfather is already sat upright at the dining table, staring intently at one of his many history books. My grandfather is a junkie for books on ancient history, always has been, according to my grandmother, and studying books of such is what he spends the majority of his life doing, as he refuses to assist me with housekeeping duties. He's refusal to participate in the simplest of household chores is a long-lived protest for him, as even when my grandmother was alive, as much as my grandfather had adored he would never once take any responsibility for anything even slightly domestical. Personally, I think this is a objection to protect his pride in his eyes, though I secretly hold the opinion that he is foolish for thinking this. And incredibly selfish too, as since my grandmothers passing I had subconsciously been forced to take over all housekeeping duties, Cooking, cleaning, scrubbing, pressing and dusting, you name it, I do it all, and what does my grandfather do whilst I'm inside working my fingers to the bone? He's either out on the front porch studying those god damn history books in his rocking chair, blowing smoke from his rusty pipe (a habit he had always despised and discouraged before my grandmothers death, however, now practices it a ten times more than she ever used to) or out in our undersized back yard, tending to his beloved vegetable garden. He even _talks_ to the plants sometimes, which I find just plain odd, if you ask me, but of course, I've got the sense not to voice that opinion. A short while ago, I heard him _humming_ the anthem of Panem to a crowd of blossoming cabbages. I had to bite down on my lower lip so hard to keep in the laughter that it was blistered for weeks afterwards.

If you saw my grandfather and I walking down the street together, you would not doubt that we were father and daughter, instead of grandparent and grandchild. This is obviously very fortunate in our situation, as nobody knows about our true relation but Helga and Cato, who I spontaneously revealed this secret to almost three summers ago. My grandfather had told nobody, because he had, quite frankly, nobody to tell. Since marrying my grandmother, his family disowned him, and he has never been the sort to engage in friendships. I'm sure he _could_ have plenty of companions if he tried, as he is a wise, knowledgeable sort of man with an interesting background. In fact, I could even imagine him gaining interest from the opposite sex, if these things were based on looks alone, of course. With a brawny frame and mysterious shadowed features, translucent skin and barley a silver hair in sight, my grandfather looks significantly young for his sixty something age range, and always has done.

"Oh, there you are young lady, how decent of you to finally grace us with your presence!" My grandfather mocks, his eyes not once diverting from his book.

"Hey, yeah, sorry I had a bit of a late night and…" I begin, frightened by his uncharacteristic sense of humour.

"Yes, I am well aware of that, thank you Clove." He says, his usual sternness returning. "I heard you stomping about up until the early hours of the morning, I assure you!" My grandfather pauses to release a bemused sigh. "And please refrain from using such vulgar terms, I have only informed you hundreds of times before." By vulgar terms, he is referring to words such as 'hey' and 'yeah, as he believes they make a individual seem uneducated and dim, and certainly no granddaughter of his was to be described in such away, as he himself would never be associated with such adjectives.

"Sorry." I grumble, making my way to the kitchen area. I begin to slice the final piece of bakery bread we currently process in to four thin wedges, and go on to spread the bread with the last of the sugared milk. _Shit _I think to myself _I only brought that last week_.

"Well, yes, I should think so too!" My grandfather rambles on. "A man of my maturity needs a time to rest himself!" I nod in agreement to silence him, and bring over the bread on two chipped china plates that we managed to salvage from our house in the Victors Village.

We eat in silence. I watch in awe as my grandfather rips in to his bread like a savage dog, as I never fail to be stunned by such an unexpected lack of table manners for such a noble gentleman. I consume my own meal in good time, picking of small chunks of bread at a time and chewing on it thoroughly. I am in no rush to be prompt today. Not after what had happened with Cato the day before.

"So" My grandfather says as he finishes his final mouthful of bread "Why were you struggling to sleep last night, hmm?" I shrug my shoulders casually, as if my insomnia was nothing more than a coincidence. "Don't lie to me, my girl! I can always tell when I'm being taken for a fool, so there's no point in trying to tell me nothing was bothering you!" He's right as well. Not much gets past my Grandfather.

"I…" I start. "I had a stomach ache. It was keeping me awake, and there wasn't much that could be done for it." This excuse is liable, as I had only made my grandfather a meal the evening before and was truthfully quite ravenous. I had felt too distressed to do much of anything last night, including eating. After I had fled from the field, leaving Cato with the promise of my sacrifice, I had burst in to a frenzy. I could not force myself to weep nor to speculate, only to run in to the open arms of the training school, redeem my trusty blades from my satchel, and to lunge my knives in to everything in sight. The school has more than enough targets marked around its campus, however, being in control did not appeal to me in that moment, so instead, I just let my anger flow violently out of my system by scarring tree's and trimmed moss and overpriced equipment with my array of faithful daggers. As I had anticipated, I had felt a lot more peaceful afterwards.

"You should of _fed _yourself then, you foolish girl!" My grandfather scolds. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you have any sense!"

_How dare he. _

The idle old fart had a lot less sense that I. Spending his days poisoning his throat and lungs and chattering with a crowd of stalks and shrubs, how could such behaviour ever be interpreted as holding any sense? I feel my front teeth curl over my bottom lip as I try to swallow down the words of disrespect lingering on my tongue.

"Well, I've eaten now, have I not?" I manage to choke out instead. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for school, I'm already running…"

"Don't you belittle me you little madam! Don't you _dare_!" My grandfather suddenly roars, raising from his chair.

"I'm _not!_" I protest.

"Yes, yes you are, and no you proceed to talk back to me!" He insists. "You're a disgrace, an absolute disgrace!"

"No I'm not!" I reply, backing away from him. My grandfather is famous for his quick temper and inaccurate accusations, so I shouldn't be surprised by his reaction to my cheekiness, however, I have rarely seen him so enraged and this frightens me.

"Your Grandmother and I" He says, his voice lowering to a sinister level "Took you in when nobody else was willing to have you, and this, _this_, is how you repay us, hmm? By showing such lack of respect for me and my…"

"Oh shut the fuck up!" I find myself yelling. "I do more for you than you've ever done for me! I cook for you, clean for you, provide you with the social interaction you are far to pompous to find from anyone but a relative and _this_ is how you repay _me_?" I can't help myself. I am a volcano finally erupting and freeing all the rage from my body. "You've never worked a day in your life! And its not like you've never had to, you've always chosen the easy way out for yourself so you can continue to be indolent! I mean, first you marry a victor, then when she dies you get a _child _to take her place in caring for you..."

I don't see the slap coming. It is as unexpected as a humid day in the depths of winter, as he has never once raised his hand to me before, in fact, I don't recall him ever even threatening to. My Grandfathers method of punishment had always been through his vicious words, razor sharp and defeating, and almost always destined to leave a prominent scar on ones ego.

The smack is firm and severe, sending a hot ache through my nerves and tinting my cheek crimson. My grandfather looks back at me blankly, not even a flicker of regret nor resentment in his expression. He seems empty. Emotionless. I am no longer worthy of his anger nor his compassion, the latter being something I never truly possessed from him in the first place.

* * *

I depart from the room soon after the blow, and calmly make my way to the bathroom. I splash icy water on my face to cool the burn of my grandfathers hit, and sit on the toilet seat for a little while with a soaked pad pressed against my cheek. After a few minutes just sitting there with an empty mind, I pull myself back together, march out of the bathroom door and into the box room in which I sleep and dress. I hoist my underwear over my legs and chest, button myself securely into a pair of beige pants made from cheap corduroy and pull a plain olive shirt over my head to complete the outfit. I tie my hair, which is hefty and dark and just skims my ribcage, into a tight knot at the back of my scalp. Slipping out back into the now absent front room, I bind together the laces of my sturdy training boots and leave the harsh memories of the morning behind me.

I am significantly late for school, of course, but for once this does not seem to matter so much. Nor does it seem to bother my teacher, whom just gives me a superior sort of nod as I clamber through the classroom door. My teacher, Miss Langdale, is a serious sort of person like my grandfather, but seems to have a lot more consideration to her nature and substance to her livelihood as she is very dedicated to the job of harvesting our young minds. Something about Miss Langdale, perhaps her straightforwardness or her undeniable intelligence, has always made me fond of her. She is fairly young, in her early thirties at the latest, and has the same complexion as me, shady hair and vanilla skin. She almost always wears very modest clothing, even in the months of summer, and her hair tightly binded back.

I take my seat in the back row, where a very tired looking Helga is awaiting my arrival. She offers a shy smile when I glance at her, which I return with a grimace. There was no_ way_ I was I going to make this easy for her, not when it might very well cost me my life. Cato isn't in our class, as he is a year Helga and I's senior, and for this I have never been more glad. This means that I will not be required to see him until recess, and perhaps if I offered to stay behind and help Miss Langdale organise the bookshelves or something…

"Clove!" I hear Helga demand in my ear, giving the impression she had summoned me more than once already.

"_What?!_" I reply grumpily.

"Are you mad at me, Clove?" She whimpers. I look at her, her beautiful face illuminated by the sun beaming through the classroom window, her delicate features struck with sorrow and misery, and I realise that I am not mad at her at all, despite what I had convinced myself. How could I be? She was my best friend, my _only_ friend bar Cato, and she was hurting and by being angry at her would only increase that hurt, and that is something I can't bear to be responsible for. Not when it comes to Helga.

"No, I'm not mad." I announce, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'm just…gonna miss you, that's all."

"I'm going to miss you too" She admits sadly. "But you never know, I might make it back…"

"Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?" I find myself trying. Helga shakes her head. I nod.

"Please, don't be sad, Clove." She pleads. "It's just something I need to do, you know?" I nod again, trying to force back that reassuring smile and failing miserably. I feel Helga take my hand in hers, the warmth of her comforting me. I entangle my fingers with hers and we sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the Mathematics lesson going on around us.

"I love you, Clove." Helga whispers so faintly that I almost miss it.

"I love you too." I respond, tears clumsily spilling from my eyes.

* * *

I manage to skip recess. I tell Helga that I have heatstroke from the warm weather and that I would prefer to stay inside. Of course, Helga being Helga she offered to stay indoors with me, but I declined. We wouldn't want Cato getting suspicious.

When the makeshift school bell rings for lunch, I am not so fortunate.

"You can't stay indoors _again_!" Helga groans when I try to sneak back over to my desk.

"But you know I don't get along with the heat Helga,_ please_, I'll come outside tomorrow!" I beg.

"We'll find a spot in the shade to sit!" She resolves, taking my hand and dragging me out in to the school yard, where Cato is propped up against a nearby willow tree.

"See!" Helga boasts to me. "This is the perfect spot!"

"Perfect spot for what now? " Cato enquires.

"Clove has heatstroke." Helga explains.

"Has she now?" Cato replies, as though he doesn't quite believe it.

"Yep!" His girlfriend concludes, pressing a tender kiss on his lips. Cato grins.

"I'm guessing you two have worked things out then?" I say to punctuate the awkwardness. Helga shrugs casually.

"Yeah, I explained things to Cato this morning before school and he gets it now." She smiles sadly. "He understands why I'm doing what I'm doing."

"Oh." Is all I can think to say. "Good." Cato nods awkwardly and Helga beams and then diverts the topic to something else.

I spend the lunchtime as I usually do, observing Cato and Helga's affection for one another and occasionally chipping in to whatever they are talking about with a comment that's either sarcastic or, in my opinion, incredibly witty.

As the period draws to a close, I feel a familiar grasp on my arm.

"Are we still on for tonight then?" Cato asks shiftily. I look around to find Helga looking for something in her satchel a significant way behind us.

"Yeah." I reply bluntly, avoiding his gaze.

"Right, okay." He confirms. "I'll see you about five then?"

"Sounds great!" I snap back a little too aggressively. Cato nods cautiously, and makes his where Helga is sat.

I watch them together with a careful eye. I watch Cato stroking the windswept hair away from her face, I watch him cradle her in his arms as she sits perched on to edge of his lap, and the way he erupts in to laughter when Helga poises her mouth into a sulky pout in response to his teasing. I watch them for what seems like forever, and for all the while I am watching them, I am wishing that the girl sat on Cato's lap was me.


End file.
